SUMMARY: Where you catch Gator snooping through your lingerie package.
WHAT TO EXPECT: 18+, suggestive content, Gator’s whipped, soft-ish Gator (kinda)
A/N: okay i need to go to sleep, bye! enjoy!
WORD COUNT: 1.1k
Gator funds your shopaholic tendencies with the same enthusiasm he applies to everything else he claims to hate. Reluctantly, grudgingly, and with enough complaining you’d think the man was suffering, but you knew he was exactly where he wanted to be.
You’d seen him suffer, watched it carve worry lines into his forehead that had everything to do with years spent sucking up to his dad. With you, his eyes only widened while scrolling through bank statements on his phone or when you came home with shopping bags lining your arms up to your shoulders. You took his complaints with a grain of salt because he was the one that gave you his credit card and manually loaded it onto your phone, telling you to “buy anything you want, princess.”
So when a baby pink package with “Victoria’s Secret” written across it in fancy black cursive appeared on the front porch, curiosity got the better of him. Packages rarely came to middle-of-nowhere Lehigh, so it must’ve been something important, he thought.
Usually, Gator would leave them in the mudroom for you, but he brought the package into the kitchen, tossing it on the counter. Gator placed both hands on his waist, popping his hip to inspect the pink parcel like a piece of incriminating evidence in a case. “Well what’s Victoria keepin’ a secret, huh?” He muttered to himself, searching the stubble on his jaw.
Curiosity won the war against his better judgment and he snatched the bag, beginning to manhandle it open. His rough fingers tore through the pink plastic and paper with none of the care the dainty contents deserved.
He shoved his hand in the bag only to produce a fistful of delicate lace panties in an array of his favorite colors: red, green, blue, black, white, and hot pink. He really liked you in hot pink. He liked the way it looked against your skin and his rough hands when he peeled it off of you.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Gator muttered, his face turning the same shade of red as the lace thong he was eyeing, the one dangling from his thumb from a fragile string. “So this is Victoria’s secret.”
He turned the panties over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship of the flimsy fabric. The lace was so thin he could see through it. He thought it was honestly ridiculous that lingerie cost more than a good pair of boots and would cover next to nothing. His thumb traced the scalloped edge, feeling the way the pattern repeated in perfect symmetry and the fold of the tiny bow stitched carefully at the center.
Gator could picture it already - you stepping out of the bathroom wearing nothing but your hot pink set, the color so vivid against your skin it looked nearly neon in the dimly lit bedroom. The afternoon light would paint your skin in a golden hue making you look devastatingly divine. You would lean against the doorframe, one hip cocked and watching him watch you with a knowing smile that drove him absolutely mad.
He would sit at the edge of the bed patiently, just like you had instructed him to do, his hands gripping the mattress because you hadn’t given him permission to touch yet. Usually he took the lead, but his control fell to shambles when you seduced him like this. His knuckles would be white from the effort of keeping still and his jaw tight with restraint as he watched you slowly walk towards him.
Gator ran the lace between his fingertips, feeling the give of it and imagining how it would stretch and tear if he wasn’t careful. One rough tug and the fabric would surrender completely. You’d swat at his shoulder and call him an animal. You’d always get so annoyed at him for going all caveman on your nice lingerie, pouting and complaining when he shredded something expensive because he wasn’t patient.
“Gator Tillman, what on God’s green earth are you doin’?” You stood in the doorway frozen mid-step with grocery bags hanging from one hand and the keys to Gator’s truck dangling from the other.
Gator looked up slowly, meeting your eyes from where he stood in the kitchen surrounded by pink packaging and lacy thongs. A lazy smile spread across his face with the same arrogance that had gotten him into trouble his whole life.
“Nothin’ that concerns you, baby,” he drawled. He pulled his hand from his pocket with exaggerated casualness with the hot pink panties dangling from his thumb like he won a medal at the town fair. “Just runnin’ quality control, that’s all.”
You dropped the grocery bags on the kitchen counter with a thud, crossing your arms and not entirely convinced. Gator’s throat clicked dry, but he kept his smirk and relaxed poster, even when his eyes tracked you like a man starving.
“Quality control,” you deadpanned.
“Mhm.” Gator stood to his full height, using his size to crowd into your bubble and tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. He dangled the pink lace between you like a challenge. “Figured if I’m payin’ for it, I oughta inspect the goods. Quality control.”
You arched an eyebrow, not giving him an inch. “You’re stealing my new underwear, Gator.”
“Borrowing,” he corrected, tucking the pink pair deeper into his pocket and patting the denim where they sat against his thigh. “Consider it a down payment on future entertainment.”
He was trying to play it cool, but his hand trembled slightly when he reached out to hook a finger in your belt loop. Leaning down, he brushed his lips against your neck, making you shiver. “You got a problem with that, sweetheart?”
Before you could even say anything, Gator had your back pressed against the kitchen counter, caging you in. “You’re gonna wear ‘em,” he said against your throat. “The pink ones, tonight. And I’m gonna take my sweet time.” His hand slid up your oversized shirt you stole from him (two could play this game). “No complaining when I rip ‘em and no lectures about how much they cost.”
His hand fisted in your hair while his other slid up your throat, thumb pressing beneath your jaw to keep you tilted exactly where he wanted you so that his lips could crash down onto yours. He tasted like his new Miami Mint vape as his tongue pushed past your lips without asking for permission.
You pulled back, laughing breathlessly. “You gonna pay for the replacement pair?”
Gator met your eyes with an undeniable hunger. “Baby,” he said, tracing your lower lip with his thumb. “I’ll buy you the whole damn store, you’re gonna know all Victoria’s secrets.”
cw: slightly unethical gator behavior, mentions of stalking
*taps mic*
ahem
currently thinking about ditzy!reader going to the stark county police department to file a police report for something ridiculous — like, someone keeps stealing your garbage cans or something, and you're convinced it's your grumpy next door neighbor and you've finally had enough of it. except in typical roy tillman fashion, he doesn't realize that you're sitting right next to his office while he berates gator about some illegal criminal activity they're up to.
you don't actually hear anything (you're too busy playing candy crush on your phone), but roy's convinced that you were eavesdropping the entire time and now you're going to use that information to blackmail them or whatever other stupid shit goes through his thick skull, so he forces gator to essentially stalk and watch you to make sure you're not up to anything unsavory.
and, well... gator's not sure he's ever seen someone so odd in his life.
when you're not working at the tiny bookstore in town, you spend your time laying out in the small patch of grass that somehow constitutes as a front yard. it pisses gator off because it's not even fenced in and, more often than not, you fall asleep in the hazy afternoon sun, sometimes even into the evening and once, to 8 pm, and he almost got out of his truck and pretended someone called him to do a wellness check on you just to usher you into your house.
roy checks in often, but gator always has nothing to report. he's positive you're not up to anything, especially after looking you up in their system. (he felt a little bad about that, but he was also desperately curious about you.) he learned that you inherited your house from your grandma, which made sense as to why it looked so... matronly, you moved to lehigh earlier this year, you're two years younger than gator, and you have a squeaky clean record.
eventually, roy forgets about you. he doesn't need gator trailing you anymore, but gator can't stop thinking about you, so one day, before heading into work, he goes into the bookstore you work at. he pretends to look at the nonfiction section, even though gator's pretty sure he hasn't read a book since maybe middle school, if that. really, he's looking for you, and sure enough, you're ducked down in the far right corner of the small store, petting a fat, furry orange cat.
gator clears his throat when he sees you.
the cat meows.
you turn around, scooping the cat up into your arms.
"oh! it's you." you say, shuffling over to the cash register and plopping the cat down onto the counter.
gator furrows his eyebrows. the cat plunks its butt down in front of him, as if it's expecting him to start petting it. he stares back, unimpressed.
"you're the one who's been following me." you tack on, grabbing a misplaced book from the front table. "from the police department. i've noticed you. i was wondering when you were finally gonna say something."
yeah, gator thinks to himself with wide eyes, this is by far the weirdest person i've ever met.
Gator's on patrol when he sees you kneeling at the edge of a large field, hundreds of cornhusks off in the distance. He sighs, knowing you're likely up to something... weird, and pulls over, throwing the cruiser in park and yanking his key from the ignition.
He never planned on looking out for you, but you just keep appearing places, doing things that make Gator worry, and he can't help but want to protect you. For God's sake, there's no one else out there making sure you don't get taken by some creep! He swears, you'd actually get in a sketchy looking van if they offered you candy, and for that reason alone, Gator can't help it when he squats down next to you, knees cracking at the joint (embarrassingly, making him wince), with a flat expression.
"What're you doin', sunshine?"
He watches in his peripheral vision as you squint your eyes, keeping your gaze straight ahead. He glances at your flowy skirt, the hem barely covering the band-aid on your thigh from whatever nonsense you last got yourself into.
"Waiting for the bunnies," you whisper. "You have to be quiet though. You'll scare 'em off."
"Why would I scare 'em off?"
You finally look at him, as if the answer's obvious, "They don't like loud noise, Gator."
"Oh. My mistake."
You hum, plopping down your butt and bringing your knees to your chest. You smush your cheek against the bone of your knee, and Gator has the urge to reach out and smooth out your hair. He sighs.
"You see bunnies here before, then?" he asks. You shake your head.
"No. Just felt like they would like it over here y'know? It's nice and wide open... they probably like the corn back there, too. Yummy dinner."
Gator pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales shallowly. "Um... yeah. Listen, sunshine, it's gonna get dark soon, why don't you lemme give you a ride back into town?"
"I'll be fine," you wave him off, kicking your shoes off to reveal your ankle length socks. "I walked out here, 'm fine to walk home."
"You walked— Jesus, we're like a half an hour from Lehigh—"
"Shhhhh," you interrupt, pressing a finger to his lips. Gator's eyes widen. "The bunnies!"
"Right," he mutters, though the word is slightly muffled by your digit. He leans back on his hands and lets out another sigh, wishing the taste of your skin would linger on his lips a little bit longer. "Guess I'll stay out here with you and, uh... wait for 'em, then."
"Oh, you like bunnies, too, Gator?" you ask happily, a grin spreading across your face.
How would Gator act if it’s readers first time with him would he wait for her to finish first
short answer: no
slightly less short answer: he’s gonna make her come as much as he can
long answer: SMUT//MDNI- mean gator, manipulative gator, reader who doesn’t quite take his shit, use of “slut,” slight degradation kink, clothed/unclothed sex, mating press, [unsafe] vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, creampie
&&
You were two orgasms in and Gator hadn’t even gotten his cock out yet.
At the bar you’d made the mistake of joking that his reputation preceded him一all you’d meant in that moment was that the name “Tillman” wasn’t the last name of the Stark County’s most eligible bachelor. But, well, Gator had taken it some type of way.
He was good looking, attractive一hot, you’d go so far as to say, once he’d removed all the stupid tactical gear and that sheriff’s department ball cap, his hair falling loose around his forehead. It softened him, made him look a little more normal and less severe. You liked it.
“Still think ‘Tillman’ ain’t worth ‘is salt?” Gator asked you, his lips shiny with you and his hands splayed out on your thighs.
“What?” you asked, head spinning a little, because you’d barely come down from your first orgasm on Gator’s tongue before he went down on you a second time.
“Said, still think I ain’t the best yer ever gonna get?”
“Who said that?” you asked stupidly. Was it possible to be cockdrunk before you’d even seen it?
Gator chuckled. “Ain’t gonna be you who does,” he said, smoothing his hands down your thighs before curling them down below your knees and pulling your legs up. “Know why?”
You shook your head, hair shushing over your pillow beneath you.
“Lemme show ya?” Gator asked, and you nodded. He leaned in, cheek against yours as he whispered in your ear. “Ya gonna make me use a rubber?” You hesitated, then nodded. He cocked his head a little to the side. “Aw, what?” He moved a hand from your thigh to your pussy, rubbing your whole mound with his big palm. “Perfect lil’ slut like you don’t fuck raw? I don’t believe that fer a second.” He kissed your temple. “I’ll pull out. Promise.”
You’d heard about this, too. Because the other part of his reputation preceding him was this. The darker side, the sick but somehow still enticing version of the man who made you want to agree to things that you would ordinarily never.
“Promise,” you said, not an agreement but a demand of him.
“I promise,” Gator said, practically mewling at you, sounding stern and serious. “Swear ta God. Cross m’heart ‘nd hope ta die.” He kissed your temple again, just softly enough to win you over to his side. “Good enough?”
You nodded even though it wasn’t. “Yeah.”
“Good girl,” Gator said, and then he pulled your legs up even higher, ducking down to rest them on his shoulders while he worked at the waistband of his camos, undoing the button and fly and shoving them down. He had you fully naked and he hadn’t even undressed一he had all the power and it had your fucking pussy quivering. He’d earned that damn reputation.
With one fluid movement, he had the head of his throbbing prick lined up at your wet slit, his spit still dousing your folds even as your own come glistened there too, clinging to your lips as he held himself with one hand, the other flat on your stomach like he wanted to see if he could feel himself entering you.
“Wanna help me out a lil’ down here?” he asked, jerking his chin toward your crotch, and you lowered both hands to your thighs, holding your legs open for him as you slipped your legs off his shoulders. “Almost,” he said, pulling back just enough that he could tap the underside of the tip against you, the feeling of it almost as potent as the sound of it, the little wet plaps along with the firm, spongy head against your folds. “Wanna gimme a clear shot into ya, c’mon.”
Swallowing, you moved your hands to your pussy lips, the index finger of each hand spreading yourself apart, exposing yourself so fully to him that he now knew you more intimately than pretty much anyone else you’d ever slept with.
He pushed down against your stomach as he angled the head of his cock into your open slit, the weeping tip sliding against you for a moment before it caught and he was able to enter you.
“Fuckin’ tight little gash ya got, goddamn,” he said, glancing up at you to see how you reacted. Your chest heaved a little, your fingers trying to hold your slick lips apart for him as he pushed in, eyes back on your cunt as he fed inch after inch into you. The heel of his hand on your stomach was pressing down against you, hard, and you wondered if he could actually feel his cock inside you.
“Don’t say that,” you said, finally finding your words, because he looked like he was enjoying it a little too much and you wanted to knock him down a peg.
“Whassat?” Gator asked absently, rubbing his hand over your stomach below your bellybutton as he pulled out and thrust back in; the crooked grin curled his lips up on one side.
“Gash,” you said, wrinkling your nose. “That’s nasty.”
“That’s nasty?” Gator repeated. “That’s nasty, ‘nd yer down there lettin’ me have ya bare.” He moved his hands to your knees again, pulling your legs up straight and quite nearly folding you in half as he bent over you, his face right in yours. “Whaddaya want me t’call it, then? Tang? Snatch?” He licked up over your mouth, and you opened your lips to let him in, tongue moving against his because this was actually the hottest thing anyone had ever done to you, the most insane shit you’d ever had in bed and he hadn’t even started moving yet. “Pussy?” he continued, drawing out the syllables, mocking you, pushing your thighs against your chest, and he was so deep inside you now that you bet he could feel himself with his hand against your stomach, because you were certain he was in your lungs, forget about your guts.
You bit his lip and he laughed, kissing you again, letting you suck his tongue before pulling away, though your hands on his shoulders kept him from moving too far.
“Maybe ya like somethin’ a lil’ more… refined. How ‘bout… How ‘bout we call ‘er princess since that must be what ya think y’are, makin’ fuckin’ demands. How ‘bout that? Want me ta fuck this pretty lil’ princess for ya?”
You groaned as he rolled his hips against you, your body wholly unable to adjust to his size, to the position, to the aura he was giving off.
“Uh huh,” Gator hummed, “‘s what I thought. Typical princess I got here, talk a big talk but once ya get some good fuckin’ pipe in ya, ya shut the hell up like yer s’posed一”
You cut him off with a slap to the face, and then your hand fisted in his hair.
“You haven’t shut the fuck up since you took your face outta my cunt,” you said, feeling a twist of satisfaction as his eyes widened down at you. “So either show me that salt you were talkin’ about havin’ before, or put your mouth back down where your money was and get me off again.”
Gator’s lip curled, but you could tell he was pleased by the turn of events, by the acquiescence but also the talking back. He snickered and planted his knees more firmly on either side of your hips, your knees on either side of your head, and then started moving一started fucking you properly, reaching deeper with every thrust, or so it seemed, and you arched your back up, breasts pressing into your legs as he licked into your mouth again.
You kissed him back, tongue slipping alongside his, deepening the kiss until you were both panting into each other’s mouths, your hands exploring his back, muscles tense as he fucked into you, both of you already breathless and he’d only thrust in a handful of times. He was moving into you hard, slow, intense motions that had you incessantly moaning lowly underneath him, your toes curled because of how thick he felt, how hot and hard, spearing into you over and over until you were clenching up around him, clit untouched but still so keyed up from your previous orgasms that you felt yourself tipping over the edge.
“Oh, yeah,” Gator groaned, his lips on your chin. “Fuck yeah, feel ya一feel that一hah, fuck一ya comin’? Yeah? Comin’ on this cock?”
“Gator,” you said, babbling beneath him both of you talking at the same time, the words just pouring out of both of you. “I’m coming一fuck, fuck me, fuck一harder一nn一I’m一I’m一” you struggled to speak as your body shook, the feeling of his dick so far inside you, stretching you, rearranging your fucking insides一you came on his cock, trembling, a tepid mess dribbling out of you as he pulled out, fucking back in and forcing all of your come, your fluids, down over your lips and between your ass cheeks, the wet spot on your bed only growing, renewing itself every time he pistoned into you.
“Gonna fuckin’一” Gator said, choked, as he took your lips again in a heated kiss, cutting himself off as he delved into your mouth with his tongue, groaning low in his throat as you sucked his tongue for real, spit coating your lips and his, tasting yourself on him as you closed your mouth around the wet muscle. Your hands were all over him, in his hair, his shoulders, down his arms, his back, myriad places on his body and then you felt it一one of his hands moved to brace himself right beside your head, fingers curling into the pillow so tightly you heard the fabric straining in his grasp, and then with a gasp, you broke the kiss because his other hand was down between your body and his.
His wrist twisted, forearm straining against you as he rubbed at your clit desperately. Again一your last orgasm had barely faded and he was just trying to bring you there again, and your body didn’t know how to react一to go along with it and let it happen or push it back down, too overstimulated, too worn out一but Gator’s insistence won out, and you felt your back bow down against the bed as you started to rise up again, your hands scrabbling at his back, fingernails scratching against the cotton of his t-shirt as his hips slapped yours with renewed vigor, uninhibited ferocity, and then as you felt yourself fall, your second orgasm in as many minutes overtaking you一he came too, buried to the hilt in your pussy, shot after shot of hot spunk coating you inside, painting your walls and filling you, exactly as he said he wouldn’t do.
You couldn’t say anything for the moment一you were strung the fuck out, the aftershocks rippling through you fucking unprecedented, and you could only lie there, cunt undulating around his prick, your legs solidly against him, until he pushed himself up, lifting his wet hand from between your legs and to his mouth, cock still half-hard in your channel while he licked his fingers clean and waited for you to drift back down to yourself.
And when you did, meeting his eyes, he sucked off the tip of his middle finger like he was savoring the taste of your cunt and then tipped his head to the side, shrugging one shoulder.
“Oops,” Gator said, feigning being sheepish, obviously not apologetic at all about coming inside you.
You only smirked back up at him, lifting a shaky hand to curl into his hair again to tug him away, up and off. He moved with you, the obedient one now, his cock slipping out of you with a wet squelch, and he didn’t resist at all as you pushed him down, further still, positioning his face between your legs. He looked at you and you looked at him, and then you pushed his head down for him, his mouth and nose smearing against your sloppy, come-filled hole before he could even try to resist.
“Clean up your mess,” you said, and held his face down between your legs as he opened his mouth against you one more time.
summary: Taking care of stubborn Gator while he is sick
warning: fluff, Gator is sick, fever, Gator teases reader
note: Soft Gator has my heart😖❤️
‧˚꒰🐾୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
Gator Tillman was stubborn, way too stubborn. He claimed that he doesn’t get sick, acting all though and strong while his forehead was burning and his nose clogged.
This always happened in your relationship. Whenever you were sick, he took care of you and babied you. But when it came to him, he wouldn’t admit that he’s feeling sick.
“You’re not going to work today” You said, pointing with your finger to him
“Hell yeah I am”
“Gator your forehead is burning, you won’t let me see how high your fever is!”
“I don’t have a fever.”
“Yes you do sit down”
“No i don’t” This man will be the death of you one day.
“Sit down” you said, with your arms on your hips. Sometimes it felt like you were arguing with a toddler.
“Jeez mama okay” He plopped down on the couch.
You grabbed the thermometer to measure the fever “Stay still” you said, cupping his cheek.
“Ya have beautiful eyes, have I told ya tha’?” he looked up at you
“Yes Gator you have” you couldn’t help but chuckle.
You checked the thermometer 102.2°F
“Yep you are staying home today”
“What it’s probably not that high”
“Yes it is, now lay down”
“But-“ he continued
“No buts lay down” And he did. You got a cold wash cloth from the kitchen, and placed it on his forehead.
He flinched by the coldness “Jeez that’s cold” he complained
“Don’t be dramatic”
“Can i kiss ya” He asked, giving you puppy eyes
“Today no, you’re gonna get me sick”
“Darlin ya have the immune system of a victorian child, we know yer already gettin sick” he laughed, but his laugh turned into a cough
“Okay rude” you smacked his bicep.
“Ow hy are ya hitting my bicep, i thought ya loved it by biting it last night” He fucked you dumb last night, of course you had to bite him.
“Gator oh my god”
“Cmon a kiss won’t hurt” he wiggled his eyebrows “Plus if ya get sick, we get to spend more time together ya know” he winked.
“You’re impossible”
“And ya love me”
“I do” you smiled, grabbing the plam of his hand and placing a kiss on it.
Later you prepared him some of his favourite soup ( he doesn’t want to admit that it’s his favourite) to ease his cough.
“Gates cmon stand up” you said bringing him the hot bowl.
“M’not hungry” he murmured
“You are going to eat no arguing” you sat on the edge of the couch.
You were about to feed him but he stopped you “Woah what are ya doin?”
“Um feeding you?” you raised your eyebrow at him
“Im no baby, i can feed myself” not this again.
“Gator please, relax for once and let me”
He exhaled “fine”
You used the spoon to scoop some soup and guide it towards his mouth.
“Is it good?” you asked him
He just stared at you, tasting the soup, unsure if it’s good or bad.
“S’okay” He was such a picky eater.
You continued feeding him, until you got an idea. Guiding the spoon towards his mouth you say “Here comes the airplane weooooww” you were on the verge of laughing out loud.
Gator just gave you a glare “Darlin be serious” and he didn’t open his mouth.
“Gator cmon eat”
“No”
“I will spill this soup all over your head”
“I’d like to see ya try” He smiled “Im not hungry anymore”
“Are you sure?” You asked
“Yes, if i want more, i could have some dessert” he said looking up and down at you and wiggling his eyebrows.
“Gator not while you’re sick!”
“What? I heard it speeds up the recovery”
“No it doesn’t you just made that up” you chuckled.
“Can i ask ya something?”
“Sure what is it”
“Can we- cuddle?” He asked unsure
You felt surprised hearing that come from Gator. He never asked for cuddles, although he loved it when you cuddled him. He always struggled with affection, seeing him get better with it makes your heart melt.
“Of course” you said smiling to him
You saw a slight smile creep up on his face. You set down the bowl on the table and laid on top of him. The couch was a bit too small for the both of you.
His hands found their way around your waist while you snuggled your face in his neck.
His cologne smelled so good, you couldn’t get enough of it. Gator always softened up while cuddling, his though act was gone completely. He always loved leaving kisses all around your face, but today he didn’t, just so you don’t get sick. Although being this close to him, tomorrow you’ll definitely wake up with a sore throat.
“How are you feeling baby?” you asked him.
“Better with you” he murmured softly
“No seriously”
“Im serious im better, yer my medicine” he looked at you “and my hot doctor”
“Oh my god what am I going to do with you” you laughed
“Nothin’ you just enjoy life while i treat ya like my princess”
a/n (my ramblings); an anon requested this! so if it’s bad writing i say we blame them. also i rarely write non-angst so anon, if ya see this, know im doing this 4 YOU 🫵. not entirely proofread, sorry. unreasonably long, sorry x2.
tw; ray throws up!! (not in a kinky way, the poor boy is anxious and scared and he doesnt wanna die), canon typical violence (gunshots, blood, swearing, etc.), no explicit smut, but it is implied, we mention reader’s parents
ray was deflecting. he had been since his acceptance letter for the long walk came in. every time you asked a question with the word “long” or “walk” in it, he changed the subject. which lead to a very awkward conversation about how long he wanted his laundry washed for, or if he preferred to walk or drive to the library.
he knew he had to tell you eventually, i mean, he was risking his life, and would very likely die, you had to know.
maybe that’s why he used the money he had stored under his bed for a date at the movies. you’d been raving about this movie, oceans ten? something like that. and maybe a stupid heist movie was the perfect place to confess that he’s done the unthinkable.
you’d known he was hiding something. his mother had been a lot shakier lately, and every time you two left his house they hugged each other like it was the end of the world. it didn’t seem like your place to intervene. your families had always been close, but since his father had been put down, it didn’t seem your place to comment on the garraty family’s habits.
you and ray have been dating for what felt like forever. he’d had a crush on you since before starting school, and you’d reciprocated ever since he gave you extra crackers at the kindergarten snack table. although you two only started dating after figuring out your places in the community. ray was your best friend, and you were his.
so why was he so obviously lying to you? he’d been anxious lately, and so spacey that even now, he almost trips walking up the 3 stairs that lead up to your house. he raps on the door, tapping out the intro to ben e. king’s “stand by me”.
knockknockknock (when the night…) knock knock (is young…)
before he can get to “and the land is dark…” you swing open the door, giggling when he jumps from how eager you seem.
“hey…” he smiles, waiting for the kiss he knew he was gonna get.
“hey.” you smile, leaning in to give him exactly what he wants.
he immediately moves to deepen the kiss, reminding you that he is but a teenager at heart, but you stop him. “aren’t we s’possed to be goin’ to the movies?” he laughs softly against your lips. “yeah, sure.”
he pulls back, cheeks flushed like they always were when you got so close. you knew that if you pulled off that ratty flannel (that was no doubt his father’s) you’d see that the redness travels down his chest and over his shoulders, dancing in tandem with the freckles all over his body.
he took in the sight of you all dressed up for him, wearing a pretty dress that definitely belonged to your mother. it was long enough to hang over your ankles, and the neckline was short enough to show a little more cleavage than necessary for a simple movie date. the whole piece was a sunset kind of orange. you looked so radiant that it made him sentimental, although lately he’d been taking in everything he could.
in a few weeks he would be fighting for his life, fighting for his mom, the ghost of his father, and you. seeing you like this, all dolled up, made that reality easier. the knowledge that you didn’t know what he was going to do, made the comfort of your beauty almost obsolete.
he’d been thinking so deeply that he’d forgotten how long he’d been standing there, watching you breathe and slide on your mud-stained boots. the terrain of your hometown never suited heels, but he dreamed of a time, either before or after the walk, where you could walk around in clogs or pumps, maybe even a pair of those crazy tall heels, with all the ribbons and bows, from the magazines you collect. but for now you we’re condemned to an old pair of hand-me-down hiking boots and one pair of converse.
“can…we go? i wanna get some snacks before it starts.” you hum, rocking back and forth on your heels.
“yeah-yeah!” he stammers, almost robotically turning and walking out of the entryway.
the walk to your town’s one room theater was decently long, just over 2.5 miles, and you two didn’t have the money for gas anyways. nowadays cars were only used for big trips or emergencies. most of the time people walked (or ran) everywhere.
the whole time you two walked, ray imagined what he would be going through on the walk. if even now his breath was getting heavy, and the sun was a bother after 20-ish minutes, what would it be like for days? would he make it days? would he trip an hour in and cry for his mother as a carbine presses into his forehead?
the countless hypotheticals running around his head made him quiet, and the ray garraty you knew was rarely quiet, thoughtful at times, and certainly a listener but never plain quiet.
you tried to kickstart the conversation, but the most you got was a breathy chuckle followed by “you’re funny.” when you two actually arrive at the theater, after trying so hard to find out what was bothering him, you feel somewhat discouraged, and almost annoyed that you had to sit in silence for over an hour.
the sky is beginning to blur orange as he holds the door open for you, placing a hand on your shoulder as you enter.
the worker was another kid your age, you didn’t know him personally, but not knowing someone personally in your town still meant that you knew this kid’s parents, his main job (because working at the theater wouldn’t pay bills), if he did sports or not, and his entire dating history. ray greets the kid by name, earning a cordial smile and a head nod as he prints the tickets.
“‘re you the only one workin’ tonight?” ray asks.
“yeah.” the kid sighs, walking you two over to concessions, “travis has his mental exam for the walk tomorrow, so he’s resting up.”
“but i thought selections were already made?” ray’s brows crinkle.
“we’re always hopin’ to be backups.”
that statement sends shivers down your spine, but ray raises his eyebrows in a kind of knowing that only boys his age knew. ray slides a $20 bill over the counter, making the kid exhume a low whistle. “you must be real special.” he winks at you. ray laughs. you blush. ray squeezes your shoulder a little harder.
you blush again.
“2 popcorns, um...a box of razzles, and a mountain dew.” rays rattles off, turning to you expectantly when he’s done. “just a diet coke.” you smile.
…
after collecting your spoils and settling into the theater, you aren’t surprised to see it entirely empty. you sit close to the screen, but not too close, but with how small the theater is almost everywhere is too close. ray sets a popcorn in your lap just as an advertisement ends.
the majors voice makes goosebumps spread over both your and ray’s cheeks. especially with how booming it sounds coming from the speakers around you. you watch with wide eyes as the state mandated add for The Long Walk begins. ray’s face is completely slacked. he drops your hand while the major describes the competition. and when the camera pans in on the military sanctioned vehicles and armed soldiers surrounding the street that wasn’t all that far from his house, he snaps.
he coughs and he dry heaves, buckling over. your hand meets his back but before you can even ask how long he’s felt sick for, he’s crying and pushing you off of him.
“i can’t—” he gasps, trying to fill his lungs with air and failing, “i, i—” he stops trying to talk and makes a break for the emergency exit. he slams himself against the door, barely making it a few steps before throwing up razzles and his breakfast. the emergency alarm blares in the back of his mind, but the cool air filling his lungs grounds him a bit.
“jesus ray!” you shriek while you watch everything unfold. the emergency exit leads to the alley on the eastern side of the building. warm tears fall down his face while he slides down the brick wall farthest from you. you have to side step around his vomit to crouch next to him.
the sun had set by now, caking the both of you in darkness. “i—i got in.” ray whimpers, flopping his head on your shoulder. “you, you did what?—” disbelief tingles in your fingers and tickles your nose, he can’t be talking about…there’s no way! he would never.
ray knows that tone of voice, he knows the horror behind it. he’d heard it from his mother before his dad died. whenever he showed ray a stolen cd or a banned movie, she’d cross her arms and warn them; in that exact tone of voice, “you wouldn’t want the major to kill you over a song? now would you?” then she would tousle ray’s hair or kiss his father’s hairline.
at the time it was a just a funny thing she’d say, but now it was real. it was real the moment ray watched his father’s blood drip down the storm drain while his mother screamed bloody murder.
he’s pulled back to the present by you whispering his name, using that exact tone. “the walk.” he coughs out, “i signed up for the walk, a-and i got in.” he feels tears; your tears, dripping down his neck. he almost immediately regrets telling you about the walk, even though he knew you had to talk about it.
ray never wanted you to cry because of him. of course he was okay with you crying, but it broke his heart everytime, and even now he just wants it to stop. he sits up, looking you dead in the eyes.
the shock at what he’s done still hasn’t left your face. he hadn’t even realized that you were wearing makeup, and he felt even worse at the thought that you’d wasted something you saved for special moments, on him. his chest is still quivering, but he swipes the mascara streaks off your cheek, smiling ever so slightly.
“hey…” he coos.
“hey.” you whisper.
“i have to do this y’know?” he mumbles, laser-focused on cleaning your face. “i love you and i want you to be happy. we can’t be happy like this.” “like what—”
“you know ‘like what’. i don’t want to have to save up money for months, just to take you on a date. im tired of you counting paychecks just to buy nice clothes for me. it isn’t fair! this entire system isn’t fair! my father died because he wanted to fix the world, and i can’t do that. i-i won’t do that, i wish i was the kind of person who could, but i can’t. baby, i can’t but i can do this.”
you shake your head, slowly. the gravity of the situation, the cold of the night, his dried tears, and the wafting smell of your boyfriend’s sick was too much.
more tears come, and for the next 30 minutes all ray hears is you begging him not to go. saying you’ll do anything for him to change his mind, and he stays there, rocking you gently while you cling to him and scream. eventually the alarm stops, is turned off, looses battery, whatever. your cries echo through the night, he was okay with this, he was okay with you wailing as long as you were speaking. he was terrified of the silence, more so the acceptance of your reality. you taking this well was his worst nightmare.
ray would rather hold you in this filthy alleyway a million times than for you to see how he reacted when he received the letter. his mother spoke to his door all night, trying to get something from him while choking back her own tears. he felt pathetic, like a caged animal bashing it’s head against it’s enclosure.
he never wanted to feel like that in front of you.
“let’s go home.” he whispers once your sobs turn to sniffles. “s’ getting late.” he repeats, waiting for you to look at him before continuing, “lemme walk you home. we’ll talk about this in the morning.”
he helps you up. your dress is stained with the grime that came from weather and dirt, but you couldn’t care less. all you could think about was ray, and how he would be dead in less than a month. this person, that you had known, loved, would be reduced to just a number and a body. just another boy who had gotten his “ticket”.
you would never speak out against the walk, you would never break the rules that had been hammered into you since before you could talk, but right now you could see the flaws in your world. the paint of society was peeling and no one cared to fix it.
2 and a half miles felt like years, but with ray letting you lean on him, and being okay with sitting in your silence, as long as you’d tell him you were okay when he asked, it only seemed half bad.
an hour later ray was being lit by your porch light, opening the door for you because your shaky hands couldn’t grip the knob right. he hangs in the doorway, not sure where you stand with him while you take off your boots and do a final once over of your disheveled appearance. once your done he opens his mouth to speak, but your body rushing his catches him off guard.
he accepts the hug like water in the desert, visibly relaxing due to your warmth.
“don’t go.” you mumble, pulling back and looking at him with wild eyes “you…you can stay the night, d-do whatever you want with me just—”
ray stops you by grabbing both your hands, cupping your fists with his. “stop. don’t do that. it won’t work.” ray hated that the world told you that your sexuality was a commodity, an asset to be exploited to get what you want. he only wanted to touch you when you wanted it genuinely, not because it could change his mind. “i have no other ideas.” he continues, “this is it. i can’t let this opportunity pass us by because i might get hurt.”
he waits for your nod, a silent conformation that you were listening. “m’ glad you get it.” he pulls you back in for a hug. his thumb rubs over your shoulder, his index finger slides in, pulling the sleeve of your dress down so that when his lips graze over your shoulder he’s touching skin, not fabric.
“goodnight.” he muffles against your shoulder. he pulls back and kisses your forehead, “i’ll miss you.”
“on the walk or overnight?” your voice is gritty from the crying, but he pauses nonetheless.
“both.” he squeezes your arm once before turning around and walking down the porch stairs. he walks to the road and turns around, trying to get a look at you but frowning at how the buzzy lightbulb obscures your face. he kisses the tips of his pointer, middle, and ring fingers, holding them up to the sky. he almost smiles when he sees your silhouette mimicking his movements.
he stands at the start of the road till you shut the door, flicking off the porch light and collapsing on the couch.
you tried to be quiet, but while raymond walked home, you sobbed on the couch because of what he’s done. it got to the point where your mother came down to stroke your hair and tell you that it’ll be okay.
“ray’s a tough boy. he can handle it.”
your ray never needed to be “tough”. he was brave, and strong, and sometimes his life was a living hell but he stayed soft, for you mostly, but also for the kid he was before his father died.
he cried once when he got a particularly nasty sunburn, not because it hurt, but because his mother told him to reapply and he felt like he neglected her by not listening. he pretends to hate the movies you like because he get’s way into the romance aspect, and will often think about the characters weeks after you watched the movie. when you first kissed him he thanked you, then apologized, then said it was a mistake, then tripped over his own feet in an attempt to run away because he was so embarrassed.
your ray wanted to be a family man. he was ready to work a boring blue-collar job as long as he could come home to you and however many kids you wanted to give him. he would have proposed by now but the right moment never seemed to come, no day, or hour was good enough. your love wasn’t suited for the world. in a time where marriages were rarely of anything but convenience, ray treasured every milestone dearly.
you cried yourself to sleep with your head in your mother’s lap, her hands raking through your hair. after you were for sure asleep. she slipped out from under you and tucked you in with a spare blanket.
as you were falling asleep ray was pulling off his boots. his mom had fallen asleep hours ago, but all his nerve endings were fizzling with energy. he pulled off his pants while walking up the stairs, and his shirt while he tucked himself in.
his sheets were scratchy, and he’d outgrown his bed a long time ago, but the blankets smelled like you, and the pillows reflected your favored sleeping (sure, sleeping…) positions. even though your house was 20 minutes away, he felt like you were burrowed in his chest or pacing around his room.
as you sniffled he snored with a smile. you both dreamed of the other. while ray’s dreams were of you smiling, yours were of him dying, gasping for air and reaching for you while the blood pools from his chest.
…
you wake up sometime around noon, still in the living room and still in your mother’s dress. you could smell the dirt wafting off of you, so a shower was the top of your todo list. while walking up the stairs to the bathroom you recount what happened last night.
ray was dying, your parents had left for work already, ray was abandoning you while dying, your mother’s dress was ruined, and you hate the movie theater.
you think similar thoughts while the spray of the shower shoots you. your house was one of the luckier ones in your neighborhood. it had actual water pressure, while the surrounding houses had to fight for a warm trickle. the only issue being that there was too much pressure. the water sprayed so hard it hurt, but who were you to complain over a blessing.
ray’s house was one of those inbetween houses that only had water pressure during the first shower of the day, and with his mother out of the house, and definitely clean. he stands under a sprinkle at best, trying to wash his hair but giving up in favor for leaning over his sink to wash out the 3 and 1 he used religiously.
ray’s mother once told him that years before they got married, his father and her had very similar morning routines. their eyes would flick open at the same time, they’d need morning showers on the same days, and they’d get hungry around the same time. this lead to arguments over who got the sink when, and and whether lavender or pine body wash was more invasive. sharing a space was hard at first, but after he died ginny talked about missing fights over the sink and sharing her lavender body wash.
ray always hoped that you two would be like that. he rarely sleeps over at your place but the few times he has, you’ve gotten up before him to make breakfast. today you both woke up alone at noon, and while he rinsed his hair in the sink you washed your face. 20 minutes away you brushed your teeth in sync. you decided what to wear while he stared at himself in the mirror, debating on whether to shave or not.
you landed on a pair of overalls and a white sports bra. it wasn’t deeply modest but the only person seeing you today had seen you in both everything and nothing. ray decided against shaving, maybe you’d be less mad at him with a 5 o’clock shadow.
as the clock ticked to 1, ray stepped out of his house, you raided the fridge for lunch.
20 minutes later he was cracking open your door and you were plating yellow, fluffy, eggs. he sits down at the small circle dining table, it had been inherited from your grandfather, or maybe grandmother? ray didn’t remember. he just knew it was mahogany, and if food ever got too expensive (again) your family would sell it.
you wordlessly slide a plate in front of him, sitting down across from him and picking at the food in front of you. truly you were starving, but eating in a time like this felt like some kind of mockery. ray watches you twitch in the seat in front of him, not even the salty goodness of your “magic eggs” were enough to distract him from the bags under your eyes.
you were trying not to feel anything, but fighting back tears and snarky comments made everything worse. the anger came out in little ways, the way you held your fork, and the way your shoulders never dropped all the way. it shouldn’t have been noticeable, but ray noticed. he always did.
“don’t still be mad.” he was begging with you but trying to seem nonchalant.
“don’t still be mad.” you repeat back to him, dropping the fork you had been fiddling with in favor of staring him down.
“the only guy i’ve ever loved is willingly sacrificing himself for some childish dream. i’m not mad, raymond.” you stand up, jostling the whole table. “i’m devastated.”
“no.” ray whispers, reaching out for your wrist and verbally wincing when you pull away from him. “don’t do that. don’tchu dare do that.” he whispers, snagging his finger in your belt loop. it was an attempt to connect, force you to see his side through touch. he’s shocked to get no reaction from you, even as his hand travels up your bare hip.
ray was scared of the silence, but the anger, and the hatred in your eyes was worse. partly because he knew he caused this anger, and because he didn’t know who that hatred was directed at. it made his chest tight like an elephant was sitting on top of it.
he wants to fall to his knees and cry against the denim that holds your legs, he wants to lie in your lap like a child, any sign of forgiveness would make this easier, make this right.
“i have to.” you rake a hand through your hair, “because…if i don’t, you’ll actually do this, and you can’t.” you actually look him in the eyes. “you can’t leave me!” you rarely raised your voice at him, but it made something in his brain switch.
the world seemed to slow down as he surveyed his options, although the only two paths seemed to be you or you.
if he went on the walk you’d be rich because of his sacrifice. you may hate him but at least you’re comfortable. this version of you could love another man, give someone else your time and energy. that life he wanted; kids and a domestic kind of love, would be gone. not because no one could love the victor, ray was sure that if he won the long walk lovers would line up outside his door, but because the victor couldn’t love someone that wasn’t you.
or, he could stay. he could be happy with saving pennies and roughing up his hands. it wouldn’t be fair, or comfortable, but every day you’d kiss him goodnight and every morning you’d get ready together. you’d laugh with him and dance in the kitchen. while dealing with frozen pipes in the winter and mosquitoes in the summer. it would suck. horribly.
the choice was obvious.
“marry me.” ray mumbles against your waist. he hadn’t even noticed your tears, but as those eyes, beautiful eyes, got wide, he stood up. his hands, soft but calloused, tucked into your overalls. one of his thumbs rubs against bare skin, while the other swipes at your tears.
“what?” you breathe, so softly it tickles his nose. he smiles, he smiles hard.
“marry me and i won’t go on the walk.”
“that’s an ultimatum.”
“yep.”
you wanted to punch him, kiss him, and scream at him all at once, but you settled for sarcasm.
“i hate you y’know that?”
he pulls your hand to his lips, kissing along your knuckles and smiling against the skin. he hums a quiet “yeah”, before kissing your other hand, lingering on the ring finger. the whole time his eyes never leave yours, you hadn’t officially answered. so under that suave smile of his was pure anxiety.
“fine.” you scoff.
“fine?” he chirps, tightening his grip on your waist.
“fine. i’ll marry you garraty, but only so you don’t shit yourself on live television.”
“thank you for that. dunno what i would do without you.” he grins, stepping a little closer.
I get drunk, pretend that I'm over it
Self-destruct, show up like an idiot
Why, oh, why does God keep bringing me back to you?
You may have a new boyfriend but your ex Gator Tillman fucks you better.
pairing: gator tillman x reader
words: 8.8k
contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) porn with a plot, ex boyfriend!gator, cheating!! lots and lots of cheating, morals are out the window!!! fingering, oral (fem receiving), panty sniffing, pussy pronouns, pussy inspection if you blink, pussy worship, big dick gator, p in v, unprotective penetrative sex, creampie, tiny bit of cum play, lil bit of nipple play, pet names (mama, baby, pretty), gator being a lil emotionally stunned but trying his best, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader.
author's note: this was about two weeks late so i apologise but i hope it was worth it! 🤍
Your boyfriend Ethan could not have been any sweeter. He couldn’t be any more of a gentleman even if he tried. But that first time having sex in his swanky apartment had not at all been what you had imagined. And if you were honest with yourself, the first time with Ethan, had been a little disappointing.
Well—that was a lie. In actuality, it had been incredibly disappointing.
You told yourself it was fluke, that the first time was always a little bit awkward. That him not making you come wasn’t that big of a deal.
But the next time, it was much the same.
You didn’t come that second time you had sex. Nor did you come on the third time, the fourth time or even the fifth. Ethan did this thing where he kept asking if you were okay, if what he was doing was okay, if everything was okay, if you felt good. You wanted to enjoy the way his cock was thrusting respectfully in and out of you, you wanted to revel in the wet sounds coming from your soaked cunt that had been dripping with lube filling the room but all you could focus on was the fact that his cologne was a little too strong. The fact he wasn’t saying anything other than “does this feel good? Is this okay?”.
Sweet, kind and considerate Ethan didn’t seem to possess the confidence or ability to make you come. And so finally, after four months with Ethan you had accepted that you were never going to have mindblowing, bed breaking sex with him.
You told yourself you were okay with that because outside of sex—Ethan was everything you had ever wanted. He was smart, ambitious and he loved you, he offered you stability. But could he fuck you? Absolutely not.
“You know it's normal, right?” Your friend Nina tells you when you bought up your lacklustre sex life one Saturday night over drinks at your local bar. “A guy not making you come. Loads of women can’t come with a guy. You’re probably just too in your own head about it.”
You smile like it was good advice but the thing was—you knew you could come with a guy. Gator Tillman might have been emotionally unavailable but your ex boyfriend had known your body like the back of his hand. He knew exactly how to make you come with seemingly little effort. He knew you liked it when he said filthy words to you as two thick fingers pumped in and out of your needy hole, his thumb circling your clit just right.
“That good, huh mama?” He’d say in a husky voice, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips as you mewled beneath him, your fingers biting in the skin of his back as your hips chased his hand. “Look at ya—fuckin’ can’t get enough can ya? Soaking my hand like this—shit, baby. Yer making me so fuckin’ hard. Need to fill ya with my cock. Need to—”
The sound of your name pulls you from your thoughts. That memory of Gator making your pussy throb with the kind of excitement you hadn’t felt in well over a year. Don’t think about him, don’t think about him, don’t—
“Hmm?” You hum, looking over at your friends like you weren’t just thinking about getting finger fucked by your ex boyfriend.
“You okay?” Your other friend Soph asks you gently.
Were you okay? Probably not, considering you were thinking about Gator Tillman of all people. It wasn’t healthy, in fact it was incredibly unhealthy to be thinking about him at all. You broke up with Gator for a reason because not only had the two of you had been on and off for a long time, his emotionally unavailability had driven you insane, his refusal to say I love you—
“Yeah,” you say with a slightly forced smile. “I’m okay.”
You knew deep down, you were anything but. Guilt and shame were swirling in your gut like some sick cocktail when you realised that your thoughts about Gator had caused wetness to pool between your legs. You could feel the dampening of your panties. The realisation made heat burn in your lower stomach, made you have to squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to ease the need for friction between your legs.
Your phone buzzed on the table in front of you. It was probably Ethan, likely checking up on you, checking that you had got to the bar okay and that you were drinking enough water alongside the alcohol you were consuming. Being the sweet, kind and caring boyfriend that he always was. But also the one who couldn’t fuck you better than Gator could.
You started to wonder if anybody could fuck you better than Gator Tillman.
“Is that Ethan?” Soph asks you, nodding towards your phone.
You hum, nodding as you quickly glance at your phone to see Ethan’s name in your notifications along with some sweet message about him looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. You feel guilty that you feel almost nothing in response to his message.
“Oh, Ethan’s such a sweetheart,” Nina gushes, smiling brightly at you. “He treats you so well.”
You smile but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Because yes—Ethan was a sweetheart. He did treat you well. But he didn’t make your heart race, he didn’t make your cunt throb at the thought of him or make you feel anything even close to what you had felt with Gator.
You wanted to be obsessed with Ethan, you wanted to be crazy about him and you wanted more than anything to not care that he couldn’t make you come. But you couldn’t. You weren’t obsessed with him, you weren’t crazy about him and you did care that you hadn’t made you come. You just knew he was stable, that on paper he was the right, sensible choice. But no matter how much you tried—and oh, you had tried—you couldn’t make yourself love him.
You knew that the right thing was to break up with Ethan. But with the words from your friends who insisted that Ethan was good for you—better for you than Gator had been—they had taken refuge in your chest and refused to leave. And so, you stayed with Ethan and you felt like a damn coward for doing so.
“Is that—” Soph begins, her eyes on a spot somewhere near the bar.
Nina shakes her head, her eyes a little wide as she shoots a not so subtle glance your way.
“How’s the new job going, Soph? Is your boss still—”
But you had caught the glance your way and more importantly, you had seen what had caught Soph’s eye.
Gator fucking Tillman.
Gator Tillman—who still looked as devastatingly handsome as he did that day you finally broke up with him for good. Gator Tillman—who was talking to some pretty brunette at the bar. Gator Tillman—who apparently still had some kind of hold over you as your traitorous heart did something funny in your chest. Something it had never done around Ethan. The guilt gurgles in your gut.
“We can leave,” Nina suggests as she notices your gaze on Gator and the brunette he was likely chatting up. “If you want to. I think they’re doing two or one cocktails across the—”
“—no,” you say quickly. Too quickly. “It’s okay. I’m fine, really.”
You tell yourself that you were fine because you had moved on. Because you had Ethan.
But that green eyed monster roaring in your chest at the sight of Gator with another woman said otherwise.
You barely listen to Soph ramble on about her new job as you watch Gator duck his head down to talk directly into the woman’s ear. Something twists in your gut when she smiles back at him, when she reaches out a hand to squeeze his arm. Your pussy clenches at you remember what those arms had felt like. Those arms that had once been wrapped around your waist as he had you almost folded in half, bent over the front of his truck. His chest pressed against your back as his thick cock fucked into you, hips snapping against your ass while he grunted about tightly you were squeezing his—
“Does anyone want another drink?” You ask your friends suddenly, stepping out of the booth with legs that felt unsteady, the ache between your legs now near impossible to ignore. “It’s on me.”
Nina and Soph both glance at your barely touched passionfruit martini before shaking their heads.
“Are you sure you’re o—”
You don’t hear the rest of the sentence. You were already walking towards the bar.
Your heart was pounding in your chest, your blood thrumming as it was pumped around your body when you finally approached the bar, less than ten feet away from where Gator and the pretty brunette were standing.
You were just going to order another drink, you tell yourself. You were just going to—
“—being a deputy sheriff sounds so dangerous,” the brunette was saying to Gator, her hand still gently caressing his arm.
Gator snorts with laughter and you make the mistake of looking over at him—to find that he was already looking right back at you.
“Danger don’t mean nothin’ t’me,” Gator replies, his hazel eyes on you as a small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
God, you hated that your cunt pulses with need in response.
You roll your eyes despite wanting nothing more than for Gator to push up the skirt of your dress and fuck you until you were drooling over the bar.
“Miss? Can I get you anything?”
You blink, turning to the bartender who was looking at you expectantly.
“Yeah,” you breathe out, squeezing your thighs together beneath your dress as you take a moment to collect yourself. “Can I get a—”
“—passionfruit martini,” a voice that went straight to your already needy cunt drawls as a large hand plants itself on your lower back. “The fruitiest thing y’have for this sweet girl.”
“What the fuck are you doing?” You ask Gator as soon as the bartender turns her back, attempting to keep the breathlessness out of your voice when you glance at him. You vaguely registered the brunette that he had been talking to walking away from the bar with a disgruntled expression and it was hard not to feel a little bit smug about it.
“Orderin’ ya a drink,” Gator retorts, his hand on your lower back dipping lower for a brief second to your ass before he withdraws it with a knowing look in his eyes as your breath hitches in your throat. “That alright with ya, mama? Or is yer little trust fund boyfriend gonna have a problem with that?”
Your face warms and your stomach turns at the old pet name before your head snaps in his direction. “How did you—”
“—know about ya new boyfriend? Baby, nothin’ goes on in this town that I don’t know ‘bout. Especially when it comes to ya.”
You swallow. A glass of passionfruit martini is placed down on the bar in front of you but you pay no mind to it as you watch Gator’s tongue glide across his lower lip because you can’t help yourself.
“I’m happy,” you tell him and the lie feels like poison on your lips.
Gator hums and you instantly know that he didn’t believe you. Of course he didn’t, because Gator Tillman still knew how to read you.
“Sure ya are,” Gator smiles before he nods over to the bartender, signalling to add your cocktail to his tab. “That’s why ya keep lookin’ at me like that.”
The room suddenly felt too hot. Everything was buzzing around you. You have to take a long sip of your drink just to give yourself something to do but even the alcohol doesn’t offer you any comfort.
But you don’t deny it. Because you couldn’t deny it.
“I’m looking at you in disgust,” you tell him.
“Disgust?” Gator repeats with great amusement, his eyes seeming to sparkle as he looks at you. There was something else there too. Something that made your heart race in your chest. And when he leans in and his breath hits the skin of your neck, you do nothing to push him away despite knowing you should. “Baby, I can smell how much ya want me from here.”
You should have slapped him. You should have pushed him away and told him to fuck off, remind him that you had a boyfriend. You should have told him that Ethan was everything he wasn’t. That he was kind and considerate. But you did none of that. You didn’t even deny it because try as you might—you could not lie to Gator Tillman and you were so wet that your panties were sticking to your puffy lips.
“Not denyin’ it, huh?” Gator drawls in amusement, reaching out a large hand to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “That dumb boyfriend of yours doin’ a good job takin’ care of ya? Or is he leaving my girl all high and dry?”
Your face burns and your stomach feels as though your insides were suddenly made of molten lava at his words.
“I’m not your—”
“—yer always be my girl,” Gator tells you. “Ain’t that right?”
You say nothing because there was not a single part of you that wanted to deny it—that Gator Tillman still had a part of you that he refused to give back.
But then you remember that no matter how good the sex was with Gator, it didn’t make up for the way he always left you second guessing, how he had never wanted to talk about feelings and how he had said nothing when you finally found the courage to say the L word.
“Thank you for the drink,” you say tersely, picking up your glass and finding the strength to step away from Gator. “But I have a boyfriend who is waiting at home for me.”
“Is that right?” Gator asks in mild amusement but you knew him well enough to see the flash of jealousy in his eyes. The thought of making him jealous makes heat spread through your gut.
“Yeah,” you say, lifting your drink to your lips and taking a sip, Gator’s eyes carefully tracking your every move—at the way you lick the corner of your mouth. “And after he picks me up and takes me to his place, I’m going to let him fuck my brains out.”
You didn’t care that other people heard you, you didn’t care about the fact other people at the bar were looking at you. All you cared about was Gator’s reaction—the way his face fell slightly, the way his hands twitched like he wanted to reach for you but stopped himself.
You take another sip of your drink, the fruity alcohol having no effect in comparison to the man standing in front of you.
“Have a nice life Gator,” you tell him, turning to leave with your heart hammering in your chest, a tight grip on your cocktail but Gator’s hand shoots out to stop you.
“What are you—”
Gator’s large, warm hand that was wrapped around your wrist tugs you closer. His touch—the one you had missed so much—causes heat to spread through your body.
“—y’know I still think about ya?” he husks, his other hand grazing your shoulder and causing goosebumps to erupt across your skin. “Especially when I’m fucking my cock with my fist.”
It was crude, it was vulgar, it was everything Ethan wasn’t and that was exactly why it made you feel as though you were alive again.
“You’re disgusting,” you spit, your throat uncomfortably dry, your cunt throbbing with need for the man in front of you.
“And yet ya love it,” Gator murmurs, leaning in so to breathe the words in your ear while his fingers dig into your skin as though attempting to leave a mark. “Can see ya squeezing yer thighs together, mama. She probably misses me, huh? Yer sweet pussy wants me that bad?”
You swallow, so turned on by his words, his touch, by him that it was a physical ache.
You had a boyfriend, you remind yourself—you had a boyfriend who loved you—who was better for you than Gator ever was.
But no matter how many times you told yourself that, you couldn’t pull yourself away from the man that stood in front of you and you certainly couldn’t deny Gator’s words. Because you were wet, you did still want him and you wanted him badly. And so, perhaps it was lucky that your friends had finally decided to step in.
“Hands off, Tillman,” Soph tells him as Nina pulls you away from Gator with an uncharacteristic stern expression. “She’s got a boyfriend and better off without you.”
Gator laughs at Soph’s words and you watch as his flicker back over to you. His gaze holds you captive for a brief moment and you don’t even register the cocktail glass being taken out of your hand as he looks back at your friend with an amused expression. “Sure. Keep believin’ that, sweetheart.”
With a scoff, Soph and Nina pull you out of the bar with a promise to never go back.
But within the hour, you unblock Gator Tillman’s phone number.
It was around eleven o’clock when you finally decided to call it a night.
“Oh c’mon,” Nina pouts when you grab your purse. “Just one more hour, please?”
You shake your head, your phone tight in your grasp and screen purposefully shielded from your friends’ eyes. “No, I really gotta go. Ethan, um, Ethan’s picking me up.”
Both Nina and Soph ‘aw’ in unison and you smile, though it doesn’t quite meet your eyes.
“Should we walk you to his car?” Soph suggests, already grabbing her jacket.
You were thankful for the dark lighting in the club, so that Soph and Nina could not see the warmth of your cheeks, the slight panic in your eyes.
“No,” you say quickly and with a reassuring smile. “No—I’m good. Thank you though.”
It took another five or so minutes to say goodbye to your friends. You felt your phone buzz in your hands repeatedly and you tried your best to ignore it as you gave both Soph and Nina a final hug goodbye.
The cold night air hits you as soon as you walk out of the club, biting at your exposed skin as you walk towards the all too familiar truck parked a little way up the street.
Gator Tillman sits in the driver's seat of the pickup truck, legs spread and large hands resting on his thighs as he watches you walk towards him. It was hard for him not to smile. He leans over to open the passenger seat door for you.
“Hey, pretty mama,” he greets you as you climb into the truck with legs that feel almost like they were made of jelly. “Couldn’t resist me, could ya?”
You swallow thickly at his words, guilt gnawing at your insides like a viscous monster as he places a hand on your thigh. You hate the relief that his touch gives you. And so, you say nothing, just staring at the thick digits that rest over the skin of your thigh, at the goosebumps forming at his touch.
You shouldn’t be doing this. You had a boyfriend, one that adored you, one that had been checking in on you all night to make sure you were okay, one that loved you and loved you loudly.
And yet, you knew what you felt for Ethan wasn’t love. It wasn’t even close to love. Because the only man you had ever loved was sitting right next to you.
“This is a bad idea,” you whisper quietly, taking in a deep breath before you turn your head to look at Gator. “We broke up, I have a boyfriend and—”
“—and yet yer in my truck,” Gator smirks in smug satisfaction, his fingers moving an inch or so higher up your thigh, his eyes watching you carefully. “That means somethin’.”
“That I’m a bad person,” you say quietly, looking away from him to glance down at your phone, which you saw light up with a text from Ethan. “A horrible, horrible person who is going to—”
You stop yourself, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you tuck your phone away and back into your purse. Out of sight, out of mind.
“Goin’ ta, what?” Gator asks and you almost gasp in surprise as he lifts your chin with his finger, an act surprisingly gentle for Gator even if it was to make you look at him. “Go on, pretty, finish that sentence.”
The air in Gator’s truck suddenly feels thick with want, with tension, with something that you couldn’t quite name.
“Gator—” you begin, a million and one things that you wanted to say, your heart thumping loudly in your chest as your eyes lock with his. But the words die on your tongue as you finally allow yourself to give into his touch, your legs spreading apart just so.
Gator’s eyes flicker down to his hand on your thigh for a brief moment but otherwise, he doesn’t dare look away from you.
He murmurs your name in a gentle voice, one that you barely recognise coming from a man like Gator Tillman and that was perhaps your breaking point.
Your hands reach up to cup either side of Gator’s face and before you could really register what you were doing, before your conscience could creep back in and stop you from doing something that you may come to regret—you pull him towards you and your lips meet in kiss that sent heat searing through your entire body.
Gator reacted immediately, the hand that wasn’t on your thigh was cupping the back of your neck and tugging you closer, kissing you back with a kind of hunger that made your core ache. Warmth spreads through your gut as Gator wastes no time in pressing the wet heat of his tongue into your mouth, his hand on your thigh disappearing beneath your dress. You part your thighs further on instinct.
“There she is,” he murmurs against your lips, smirking as he thumbs over the damp patch that had formed in your panties which causes you to whimper against him. “There’s ma girl.”
And just like that—he pulls himself away from you. You whine, your hands clinging to him in desperation as he withdraws his hand from between your legs, chasing his lips as he pulls away from you.
“Why did you—” You stop, completely breathlessly as he lifts the fingers he had pressed against your clothed cunt and sniffs them shamelessly.
“Ya still smell fuckin’ incredible, baby,” he drawls, making your mouth feel incredibly dry as he breathes in your scent. “But m’not takin’ ya here. Ain't no way. Want’ta spread ya out and take my time with ya. Okay?”
You nod, your body nearly trembling with want. Your cunt clenches around nothing and your lips part slowly as you watch him palm the large bulge that had formed in his jeans before he starts the engine.
The next fifteen minutes or so were nothing short of torture. You were beginning to wonder where on earth he was taking you. He certainly wasn’t taking you to the Tillman ranch nor was he taking you to your apartment. You didn’t ask him where exactly he was taking you because you couldn’t even look over at Gator as he drove because knowing he was already hard, already aching for you made the heat surging through your veins turn only hotter, made the space between the two of you feel small.
And when he finally pulls into some sort of fancy looking hotel parking lot, you turn to look at him in surprise.
“Gator, is this—”
“—only the best for ya,” he murmurs, not looking at you as he unbuckles his seatbelt, the tips of his ears turning red. “Wasn’t gonna fuck ya in a shitty motel.”
Despite how utterly unromantic those words sounded, you felt your heart double in size.
“Sweet,” you say with a small smile that Gator doesn’t return. But he does climb out the truck first to open your door even if he does plant a smack to your ass shortly after.
Gator whistles between his teeth, twirling the key to the hotel room around one of his thick fingers as you walk through the fancy lobby. You glance up at the twinkling chandelier above you, at the ceiling above that glittered in the light and you wonder just how much Gator had splashed out on the room for the two of you.
Gator’s hand doesn’t leave your lower back the entire time as you walk towards the elevator. His presence doing nothing to help the ache between your legs, the simple touch making you feel more alive than you ever had with Ethan. The dull reminder of your boyfriend makes shame twist in your gut but you look at Gator to district yourself. You find him already looking at you.
You don’t break eye contact the entire elevator ride to the fifth floor.
And when Gator opens the hotel door for you, you can’t help the small gasp that leaves your lips.
“Gator,” you say, completely breathless as you look around the room with wide eyes—at the expensive decorative golden carpet beneath your heels, at the plush royal blue loveseat, the floor to ceiling windows and finally the california king sized bed that sat in the middle of the room, white sheets that were so pristine that you were sure cost more than your monthly rent.
You were in such a state of awe that your body jolted when you felt Gator’s arms wrap your waist from behind.
“Where’d ya wanna go?” He asks against the skin of your neck, grinding himself against your ass, his cock thickening beneath his jeans. “The couch?” He whispers, pressing a kiss just over your pulse. “The floor?” He sucks gently at your skin, smiling when you arch back against him. “The bed?” He murmurs before his tongue darts out to lick a stripe up your neck while pressing himself more firmly against you.
Your eyelids flutter shut, heat coiling in your gut deliciously and making it impossible to resist him for even a second longer.
“Anywhere,” you breathe, turning around in his arms so you could face him. “I just want you.”
It was perhaps the most honest thing you had said in four months.
And it was those words that pull a rare, genuine smile from Gator Tillman before he finally leans in and crashes lips against yours.
His mouth was warm and insistent against yours, tongue licking into your mouth hungrily as though desperate to relearn every part of you he had missed. You melt into him, your fingers already tugging at his shirt as his hands roam over you to squeeze the globes of your ass.
“Missed ya, baby,” Gator groans against your mouth before pulling your bottom lip between his teeth and sucking gently.
You whimper against him at the action, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you continue your attempts to tear it from his body. Gator doesn’t do a damn thing to help you, seemingly too focused on your lips, on the way you were whining against him as though you were desperate for him.
“Did’ya miss me too?” Gator asks you, pulling away just to look at your face, at your spit-slick lips, at your flustered expression.
“I did,” you breathe out, one of the buttons on his shirt popping out in your eagerness to tear it off his body. At the sight of his chest hair peaking through the half unbuttoned shirt, your pussy throbs in anticipation. Fuck. You had missed his chest hair. Ethan was almost silky smooth compared to Gator and the sight of the dark, coarse hair over Gator’s chest made you almost feral and you can’t help but lean in and lick along the coarse hair in one, languid swipe. “I missed you s’much.”
Gator groaned, genuinely groaned out loud and the sound went straight to your dripping core.
“C’here mama,” he grunts, his palms cupping your jaw and pulling your lips back to his.
Gator kisses you like he was starving and you kiss him back like he was the air you breathed. Desperation for each other was seared into each and every kiss, a complete lack of care for how messy and wet the kiss was. In fact, the messy glide of your tongue against each other only made you more desperate for each other.
You finally manage to peel off his shirt and you smile in victory before letting out a small shriek as Gator’s hands hoist you up. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, your lips not leaving his as he walks you over to the luxurious bed waiting for the two of you.
You expect him to throw you onto the bed, expect him to manhandle you the way he always did.
But to your surprise, he doesn’t.
Instead, Gator Tillman lowers you gently down onto the bed as though you were something precious.
“Gator,” you gasp out, reaching for the buckle of his belt but he stops you with surprisingly gentle hands. “Please, Gator. I want—”
He shushes you, pressing a finger to your lips to silence you as his hazel eyes drag over your body, at the dress that was fluttering over the tops of your thighs, just exposing the slither of deep red lace hidden beneath your dress.
“—and I wanna take my time, baby,” he tells you, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he leans away from you and to gently grab one of your calves. “Ya deserve that shit.”
Your lips part as you watch him slowly—ever so slowly—take off the heels that you had been wearing. The entire time, he doesn’t break eye contact, not even as he kissed along the skin of your ankle.
Your entire body was thrumming with want. You were so turned on that the ache between your thighs was becoming almost painful and you could barely stop yourself from squeezing your thighs together.
The moment you do however, Gator’s eyes darken and his palms were quick to stop you, spreading your legs even further apart and causing a whine of utter desperation from leaving you.
“Look at you,” he hums, licking his lips at the sight of the damp patch in your panties, the darkened fabric making his achingly hard cock stir beneath his clothes. “Fuck, I need’ta see her, baby.”
You nod feverishly, your body practically shaking with anticipation as Gator tries his very best to peel the dress off your body without tearing it. You, however, didn't care in the slightest if he ripped the dress to pieces.
The moment Gator finally saw what you were wearing beneath—the deep red, lacy set that he had once bought you for Valentines’ Day, Gator let out a noise that you prayed you’d never forget.
“Fuuck, baby,” he breathes out, leaning in to press a kiss to the swell of your breast and groaning at the feel of your skin against his lips. “Look at ya. Fuckin’ look at ya. Fuckin’ masterpiece and all f’me.”
It was the most poetic thing you had perhaps ever heard Gator say and it sent waves of something that felt like electricity through you.
“Gator, please—” you whine, your back bowing off the bed as one of his hands brush down your back to unhook your bra. He seemed to lose his gentleness in his haste to get it off your body but you didn’t mind, not when his mouth quickly latched itself over one of your nipples. You let out a moan that the room next door was sure to hear. But you didn’t care, not when he was sucking hard on your pebbled peak, swirling around the sensitive bud with his tongue as his other hand came up to knead the breast his mouth wasn’t working on.
You weren’t holding back—after months of sex that left you feeling unwanted, unsexy and incredibly frustrated, you were finally allowing yourself to live in your pleasure. You allowed yourself to focus on Gator’s tongue, his hands and the groans that were muffled against your tit in his mouth.
Ethan was never enthusiastic the way Gator was about your pleasure, in fact, you often wondered if Ethan even really cared about your pleasure since he never touched you unless he got something in return and he certainly had never moaned shamelessly at the feeling of your breasts in his mouth like Gator was.
“S’good,” Gator groans against you before he switches to your other breast, his mouth giving it the same feverish attention as the other. “Fuckin’ missed these s’much. Most perfect fuckin’ pair of tits.”
Gator could have happily spent the entire evening lavishing your tits with his mouth, could have died there in all honestly. But you were writhing beneath him, hips bucking upwards and clearly desperate for more.
“Stay still, baby,” he tells you before he blows air onto your nipple, tongue flicking the sensitive bud and causing a whimper to escape from your throat. “Stay still.”
You whine but the moment you feel his hands spread your thighs again, you know better than to listen to him.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, deft fingers now tracing over the skin of your thighs before they wrap around the last bit of lace that covered your most intimate part from him. “Good girl.”
You can’t help the whimper that escapes you at those words.
“Gator—”
You were about to beg him, about to plead with him to stop teasing you but Gator Tillman seemed to get your message loud and clear.
He tugged your panties down your legs, almost ripping them off entirely in his eagerness to strip you bare. He stared down at the lace crumpled in his hand for a moment before lifting it to his nose and you watched—lips parted—as he breathed in your scent. He moans, loud and shameless as you fill his nostrils, the musky, heady smell making his hip buck against your thigh and you feel the thick, heavy outline of his cock. He was painfully hard but he was too busy smelling your soaked panties to really care.
“Fuuuuuck,” he moans into the material before letting it drop onto the sheets beside you so that he could let his eyes finally feast on the sight of you beneath him. You were sprawled out on the plush hotel bed, the expensive white sheets beginning to tangle from where you had been writhing against them in pleasure. He watches as your breasts heave, looking up at him, nipples still wet with his saliva before finally, finally his eyes drift down to your cunt and he marvels at the sight of it—glistening with your slick beneath the warm lights of the room.
“Jesus, baby,” he whispers, voice almost reverent as he leans in to kiss along your navel. Your body jolts slightly from the contact but Gator’s large hands hold your hips down, preventing you from moving too far. “Already s’fucking wet f’me. Drippin’ onto these expensive sheets. Fuck, mama.”
You feel his hot breath hit your inner thigh and the whimper that escaped you was borderline pathetic. You were so desperate, so ridiculously turned on that you were sure it wouldn’t take much for Gator to bring you to the edge. Just the way he was looking at your pussy was enough for more slick to dribble down between your folds.
You hear him tut gently and you look down just in time to watch one of his fingers brush gently through your curls before it glides easily between your folds, parting them gently. That first touch felt like something close to electricity surging through your body—you felt pleasure course through your entire being.
“Look at how neglected she’s been,” Gator murmurs as he leans in, breathing in your heady scent, his nose nudging lightly against your clit in a move that had you whimpering beneath him. “Can’t be havin’ that, can we, pretty?”
You have no time to respond, no time to even begin to think of a reply before Gator finally, finally dives right in.
And when it came to eating pussy, Gator Tillman did not hold back. Not in the slightest.
His mouth seals itself over your cunt with a sound that was so loud and so obscene that you momentarily began to wonder whether or not you were dreaming. But as he licked a long, broad stroke from your entrance right up to your swollen, puffy clit—you knew that this was far too good to be a dream.
“Gator!” You mewl out, your hands flying to grab onto his hair, needing something to hold onto as your hips are unable to jerk upwards as he holds you down against the mattress. Your fingers tug at his hair as he circles your sensitive bud with the very tip of his tongue and he groans at the feeling, causing a vibration that makes your toes curl.
“That’s it, mama,” Gator mutters against you, his eyes not leaving your face as it twists with pleasure. “Taste fuckin’ incredible. Like home.”
If you weren’t feeling such intense pleasure from his tongue playing with your clit, you may have thought more about those words.
“Fuuuuck, Gator,” you moan, throwing your head back against the sheets as he flattened his tongue, dipping back down to your dripping hole that he lapped at greedily, slurping up your slick messily like it was holy water before pushing his tongue inside and fucking you with it. Gator didn’t seem to care that the mix of your wetness and his saliva was now dripping from his lips and coating his chin and he certainly didn’t care about the moans he was letting out against your cunt.
“Missed this sweet fuckin’ pussy,” He murmurs, smirking against your heat before he pulls away just to listen to your needy whines. “She’s missed me too, ain’t that right, pretty?”
You nod, opening your mouth to reply but whatever words were about to leave your lips were cut off entirely by a high-pitched moan as he pressed a finger to your oversensitive clit.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, grinning lazily at the way you almost convulse with pleasure beneath him as he begins to press circles against your clit with familiar precision. “Let me hear ya. Let me hear those sweet fuckin’ sounds of yers.”
You couldn’t speak, couldn’t form a sentence or even a coherent thought, not as he traced two fingers down your folds, smearing your slick over you messily before he pushed both fingers deep inside of you. You felt him curl his fingers, your eyes rolling back into your head as they pressed firmly against that spongey spot inside of you.
And when his mouth returned to your clit and sucked the sensitive bud between his lips?
It was nothing short of ecstasy.
The dual sensation of his mouth on your clit and his fingers fucking in and out of you, pressing against that spot that made you see stars with every pump of them had you making noises you didn’t know you were even capable of. The wet sounds of his mouth sucking at your clit, of his fingers pumping in and out of your cunt fill the room, along with his muffled groans and your high-pitched moans. You weren’t even really aware of how loud you were being, not when it felt so fucking good to be worshipped the way Gator Tillman worshipped you the altar between your thighs.
“Yer so fuckin’ perfect,” Gator murmurs against you, his words slurring slightly, seemingly drunk on your pussy before he doubles down, fingers curling inside of you at the same as he sucks at your clit.
“Gat—Gator,” you gasp, not knowing anything other than his name. “Gator, I’m going to—”
“Ya gonna cum, baby?” He asks, not letting up for even a second as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. “C’mon then, pretty. Be a good girl f’me and cum.”
It was the way he was looking at you, it was the fact that it was Gator and that this—he—was everything you had been thinking about for the past few months that you finally found yourself tipping over the edge.
You let out a cry, one that was sure to wake the whole damn hotel as your orgasm crashed through your body with an intensity you didn’t know was possible. Your walls squeeze his fingers as he works you through it, your pussy gushing around the digits while his tongue greedily savours every last drop.
You were trembling, feeling pleasure coursing through every single nerve in your body, your blood singing from the intensity of your orgasm. You were absolutely positive that Gator Tillman had sent you to another planet, another universe with his fingers and mouth and you wanted to live there for a little bit longer.
But the sound of Gator whispering your name pulls you back.
You sit up on your elbows, his face glistening with your release and looking so handsome that you wondered why you ever fucking left.
“Gator,” you gasp, your hands that were still in his hair pulling him toward you. “Gator, I—”
“—I know,” Gator breathes out, eyes seeming to sparkle in the warm light. “I know, baby.”
You met in the middle in a kiss that was so soft and so gentle that it took your breath away. You could taste yourself on his tongue but you didn’t care, not when he was kissing you like you were more precious than gold, not when he was holding you so close to his body like he was never going to let you go again.
He whispers your name again and he says it so lovingly that you almost didn’t recognise it but it made you cling to him tighter, made your body shake with an emotion you couldn’t control.
Your hands shake as they run over his skin, down his neck, over his chest, over the soft stomach that your cunt throb again before finally you reach his belt buckle. Gator doesn’t tease you this time, instead he groans into your mouth before he helps you with his belt, which he throws unceremoniously to the other side of the hotel room. You’re pretty sure you hear something clatter to the floor but neither of you really care as his jeans are the next item of clothing to disappear.
The outline of his cock through his boxers was enough to make your mouth water. You had almost forgotten how big Gator’s cock was but the size of the bulge in front of you was a truly glorious reminder.
“I don’t have a—”
“—I don’t care,” you say quickly, your fingers already tugging at the waistband of his boxers as you look hungrily up at him. “Just fuck me, Gator.”
With one firm tug, his cock finally springs free. It slaps against his stomach and sound goes straight to your core. You watch greedily at the way the ruddy tip is already leaking, precum dribbling down and running along his veiny length, making your mouth feel impossibly dry.
“D’ya wanna—”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, you’re already pulling him down onto the mattress and pushing him onto his back.
“Oh shit,” Gator smirks, his hands finding your hips as you move to straddle him, your wet heat pressing against his thigh. “You gonna ride me, pretty? Is it my birthday or somethin’?”
You roll your eyes, a smile tugging on your lips as your cheeks warm slightly.
“Don’t be shy,” he tells you, thumb brushing over your skin before he presses his thigh against you, the hairs brushing against your still sensitive clit and causing you to jolt slightly. “Ride me. G’on, baby.”
Despite his slightly commanding tone, despite the smug smile on his face, you could see the desperation and utter devotion in his eyes. He needed this—needed you almost as much as you needed him.
And so, you wasted absolutely no time in wrapping your fingers around his cock and lining him up with your entrance. You watch as his lips part and eyes widen, Gator Tillman momentarily speechless at your touch, before you begin to sink down onto his thick cock.
The stretch burns at first. Ethan was nowhere as big or as thick as Gator was and so, it took you a moment or so before you sank yourself down onto him completely. The moment you do, the moment you were filled entirely with Gator—was the moment you realise you had never stopped loving him.
“Ya okay?” Gator asks you gently, feeling you tense briefly and his hands cup your face in a gesture so sweet and gentle that you nearly forget to breathe. “I didn’t hurt ya, did I?”
“No,” you shake your head quietly, smiling at him as you watch his expression soften slightly, the relief in his eyes that he hadn’t hurt you. “I just—I just really missed you.”
Because you did. You had missed him, not just the sex. You realise that now. You always knew, deep down, that Gator loved you despite not being able to say it back. Because Gator Tillman may not have screamed it from the rooftops, but he said it in every gentle caress, every smile and every laugh meant only just for you.
Gator looks back at you carefully, blinking slowly as he studies the look on your face before he swallows, fingers digging into the skin of your hips. “I missed ya too. Sap.”
You smile at him before you laugh, your fingers dancing over the skin of his shoulders as you watch his lips twitch as though he’s trying not to smile too.
You had so much more you wanted to say to him, so much more you needed to talk about—but there would be time for that.
You held onto his shoulders as you began to roll your hips, the slow grind making Gator swallow as your gummy walls squeezed snugly around his cock.
“Yer so fuckin’ warm,” he groans, eyes flickering down to watch the way your pussy was stretched around him, the sight making his stomach tighten. “Squeezin’ me like that, fuck, mama. Keep goin’.”
But you keep the slow grind, watching the way his throat bobs, the way his bottom lip was pulled between his teeth like he was trying to stop himself from moaning. The sight alone made you clench around him.
“Pretty girl—”
“—you gonna say please?” You ask him with a teasing smile, sinking down and rolling your hips in a move that had Gator gripping onto your flesh tightly.
Gator looked for a moment as though he would rather die than say please but another roll of your hips, one that had him fully seated inside of you caused him to let out a sound you didn’t even know he was capable of.
“Please,” he grunts, his hands moving to squeeze the globes of your ass as though desperate to keep you close to him. “Please ride me, baby.”
Who were you to refuse him?
You started to ride him properly then, rolling your hips as Gator’s hands on your ass guided you into a faster rhythm, one that his head rolling back and your fingers biting into the skin of his shoulders.
“Oh, fuuuck, Gator!”
It was hard to think clearly after that. His hands squeeze your ass, kneading the flesh as he aided you in slamming back down onto his cock repeatedly. Wet sounds fill the room once again, this time from his thick cock slamming up into you, the fat head of it bullying your cervix with each and every thrust.
You mewl, moan and whimper, your hips meeting his movements as you grab onto the headboard behind him for leverage. The moment that you do, there was really no stopping the noises that left both your mouths.
You slam your pussy down around his cock over and over and over again, your tits bouncing in his face while Gator babbles mindlessly beneath you.
“Fuck baby, that feels s’fucking good. Yer so good. Fuckin’ made f’me. Don’t know—fuck—don’t know why the fuck I ever let ya walk away. Never again, pretty.”
You nod frantically, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as his hips thrust up to meet you, burying himself so deep that you swear you felt him in your gut. The coil inside you was tightening again, so close to snapping that you felt tears well up in your eyes owing to the sheer amount of overwhelming pleasure you were feeling.
“Look at me,” Gator says suddenly and the desperation in his voice makes you look down at him. “Look at me, baby. Want ya to look at me when ya cum.”
You whimper, the eye contact somehow making everything even more intense. It wasn’t just the pleasure and the heat building steadily up in your gut, but the emotion you felt in your throat, in your very bones, as you looked back at him.
“Gator—”
“—I know baby,” Gator grunts, thrusting up into you and looking at you with such gentleness that you couldn't bring yourself to look away even if you wanted to. “I know—and I love you too.”
A sound tears from your throat—a sob, a moan—you weren’t entirely sure. All you knew was that your second orgasm tears throughout your body, waves of pleasure crashing over you, making everything around you feel fussy as you squeezed his thick cock like you never wanted him to leave.
“Fuck—that’s it, mama. S’fucking pretty. Fuckin’ beautiful. Ya gonna make me—”
Gator doesn’t finish his sentence, a needy whine leaving his lips as he tips over the edge right after you. His hips stutter, slamming your pussy down around him one final time before he floods your pussy with hot spurts of his cum. You whimper, bordering on overstimulation as he keeps thrusting up into you, fucking his cum up into you, as deep as it could go.
“S’fucking good for me. Takin’ all my cum like a good girl.”
You whimper before collapsing against his chest, completely and utterly spent. Gator’s arms wrap around you in an instant, his cock still pulsing inside of you as he presses kiss after kiss against the sweat-slick skin of your shoulder.
You were both breathing heavily, both clinging to each other as though neither of you wanted to leave the hotel bed.
But it didn’t take long for the guilt to come back. The blurred image of Ethan creeping back into the back of your head.
As though being able to read your thoughts, Gator says your name quietly—almost tentatively.
“I really do miss ya,” he tells you, raising a cheek to brush his fingers gently across your cheek. “Not just—not just this, y’know but—all of ya.”
“Gator—”
“—I know, okay? I know ya think m’just saying shit because of what we just did but I—I really do love ya. A lot. So much that I spent fuckin’ way too much money on this fuckin’ hotel room so I could prove to ya that I can take care of ya too. Not just that trust fund baby ya been seein’.”
It takes a few moments to take in his words through your post orgasm haze but when you do, you finally understand just why Gator Tillman had splashed out on a fancy hotel to fuck you in.
“Gator,” you breathe out his name before you pull yourself away from his chest to look at him.
“Yeah?”
“You don’t have to spend money to prove that you love me,” you tell him quietly with a shake of your head. “You just have to say it. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Gator expression shifts, as though quietly trying to understand your words before he swallows.
“Well, I do,” he says, looking away for a very brief moment before looking back at you. “I love ya, baby. I always have. Always will.”
You expect him to look away, for him to shy away from those words but he doesn’t. Instead, he looks back at you with a determined expression that makes the world around you almost cease to exist.
“I love you too,” you breathe out, your hands cupping his face before pulling him into a kiss that has his cock twitching inside of you.
“So, ya gonna break up with that prick now?” Gator asks, pulling away to pepper kisses along your neck, setting a fire along your skin. “Or can I fuck ya again first?”
